


finally clean

by sharkfish



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Asexual Dean, Content note: Depictions of trauma after off-screen sexual assault, M/M, Omega Dean, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:58:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5540927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkfish/pseuds/sharkfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“You moved an </i>alpha<i> in and didn’t even think to ask me?!”</i></p>
<p>
  <i>“I didn’t ask you when I moved Charlie in.” </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I didn’t live here then, jackass. And she’s a lesbian, so it doesn’t count.” </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I thought it would be a little rude to ask Castiel his sexual orientation,” Sam says, being a fucking priss. “Maybe he’s straight.” </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You moved an _alpha_ in and didn’t even think to ask me?!”_
> 
> _“I didn’t ask you when I moved Charlie in.”_
> 
> _“I didn’t live here then, jackass. And she’s a lesbian, so it doesn’t count.”_
> 
> _“I thought it would be a little rude to ask Castiel his sexual orientation,” Sam says, being a fucking priss. “Maybe he’s straight.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CONTENT NOTE** : This story references the results/trauma from an off-screen sexual assault; this material is potentially triggering so please use discretion and take care of yourself. <3

“You moved an _alpha_ in and didn’t even think to ask me?!”

“I didn’t ask you when I moved Charlie in.” 

“I didn’t live here then, jackass. And she’s a lesbian, so it doesn’t count.” 

“I thought it would be a little rude to ask Castiel his sexual orientation,” Sam says, being a fucking priss. “Maybe he’s straight.” 

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, until my suppressants fail or something.” 

“He’s a good guy, Dean. We had some classes together in undergrad. He’s not that kind of alpha.”

“I’m putting a lock on my door.” 

“Whatever, Dean.” 

Dean goes to the hardware store and installs a lock on his bedroom door, glaring at Castiel’s closed door the whole time. Luckily Castiel doesn’t come out, but Dean can _smell_ him, even through the thick doors. It makes his stomach turn just like every other alpha stink does, ever since -- well. Since it happened. But Dean doesn’t think about it. Ever.

 

When Dean runs into Castiel in the hallway, Castiel steps to the side, dropping his eyes in such a submissive display that Dean just glares harder. 

When Castiel speaks, his voice is all alpha, deep and rough, and strangely precise. “I understand you’re not happy with me being here,” he says, still not looking up. “I apologize for making you uncomfortable.” 

Dean snarls. “Yeah, sure, buddy.” 

“Sam seemed disinclined to dissolve the lease agreement,” Castiel says. 

Finally he glances up at Dean and then away again, but it’s enough for Dean to catch a blue as bright as the summer sky. He wonders what color Castiel’s alpha is, and the thought makes him jerk backwards like Castiel’s scent could be forcing these kinds of thoughts on him. Castiel cringes as Dean backs into the wall. 

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Castiel says, then slips past Dean into his room. The door closes in Dean’s face, but the hallway smells of strange alpha, and Dean can’t get the itch out of his nose for the rest of the day. 

 

Dean knows he’s being a little childish, but he pointedly ignores Sam as long as possible, choosing instead to spend his time hanging out in Charlie’s room with her deluxe media-and-gaming system set up between a self-built computer and a tv that seems nearly as big as the room itself. Charlie and Sam used to be the only cool alphas Dean knows, and now it’s just Charlie. 

“I get it, you know?” Charlie says. “But I’ve met Castiel, and he doesn’t seem… like that.” 

“They’re all like that,” Dean says, his lip pulling back. 

“I’m not.” 

“Chicks who are into chicks are different. Y’all are, like, into your feelings and shit.” 

Charlie rolls her eyes and promptly kills him in the game they’ve been playing obsessively for days. 

“What the fuck, Charlie!” 

“That’s for being a sexist jackass, jackass.” 

Dean tosses his controller on the ground, grumbling. “Can’t get a fucking break around here, man.” 

“Stop being a baby.” 

“Stop being an alpha.” 

This is a stupid thing to say, because if Charlie says it back to him -- even joking -- _stop being an omega_ \-- he will lose his shit. She seems to know that, though, and goes silent, just staring bullets into him. 

“Sorry,” Dean finally mumbles.

“All is forgiven. Pick up that controller and let’s go again.” 

 

By family dinner night, Dean has (mostly) forgiven Sam, though he’s still not interested in being anywhere near Castiel. Which is kind of a problem, since Sam -- that asshole -- invited Castiel to join them for their Thursday night tradition. 

Dean and Sam have a hissed argument about it in the kitchen, but Dean manages a smile when he brings the salad bowl to the table. He turns to grab the rest of the food, but Castiel’s grave “thank you, Dean” has him pausing for a moment before he catches himself and keeps walking. 

Castiel is smelling up the room in a way Dean isn’t used to and doesn’t think he likes, but he bites his tongue as they all dig in to Dean’s “famous” lasagna. When he can, he glances up at Castiel quickly, trying to take in all his details without being caught.

Castiel is wearing a blue button-up that kind of matches his eyes. The sleeves are rolled up, and there’s a tattoo in black and white down to his wrist. Dean stares at that the most -- all angels and demons, each as cruel looking as the other, playing their timeless saga down Castiel’s arm. It’s strangely beautiful in the way the ugliest of things can be. 

“How’s your thesis going?” Sam asks Castiel in between bites. 

“As well as it can, I guess,” Castiel says, grimacing. “I’m hoping to be ready for revisions next month.” 

“Wow, you work fast,” Charlie says, looking impressed.

“Castiel is studying history,” Sam says for Dean’s benefit. “What is it? The rise of populism…” 

“The rise of populism in eastern Kansas and northern Texas during the late 1800s.” 

“That’s strangely specific,” Dean says, finally meeting Castiel’s eyes. Instead of hard, ready to go red, Dean finds Castiel’s eyes intense but mostly kind-seeming. Kind of leaves Dean reeling. 

Castiel smiles. “Most theses are. Sometimes it seems like there’s not much thought left that hasn’t already been used as a PhD thesis.” 

Dean finds himself saying, “Tell me about it. The populism thing, I mean.” 

“Well, to start off with, eastern Kansas was a hotbed of political intrigue…” 

Dean never liked history class when he was in school, but the way Castiel explains it has him sitting in a hard-backed chair long after Sam and Charlie have left the dinner table, just listening to Castiel talk about politics in the Wild West. Dean likes the way Castiel’s eyes and scent go all soft and happy when he’s talking about it.

But Dean still doesn’t trust him. 

 

The problem with Castiel being a PhD student is that he’s in the house _all the time_. Every time Dean passes by, Castiel is hunched over a tiny laptop on the tiny desk in his room, typing away, or bent over a book with a highlighter out, mumbling to himself as he scribbles notes in the margins. Not that Dean has noticed or cares what Castiel does. Fucking _alpha_ under the same roof. 

It’s a Saturday evening and Dean is pretty sure the house is Castiel-free. He’s so ready to have a beer and relax without worrying about -- well. It’s not smart for omegas to imbibe with strange alphas nearby. If something happened while he’d been drinking… that makes it his fault, doesn’t it? 

Dean knows a lot about things being his fault. 

Before starting on a trashy tv marathon, he goes out to the back deck to get some blessed fresh air -- the _whole house_ smells like alpha _all the time_ now, so strong Dean can’t even scent himself -- and belatedly realizes he’s not alone after he’s already thrown himself into one of those fancy lean-back deck chairs. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, and Dean scrambles to get out of the chair but mostly just lands back on his ass in puzzle piece limbs. 

“I didn’t know you were out here,” Dean says. He doesn’t say _You scared me_. Castiel can probably smell it on him anyway. Which -- Dean scents the air as subtly as he can and, yes, he smells happy-relaxed alpha. Despite his brain protesting, it soothes him. 

The other scent in the air is the unlit joint sitting on the table along with a longneck and a lighter. “Didn’t take you for a rebel,” Dean says, refusing to smile. Castiel is a surprise. 

“Mm,” Castiel says. “I have my vices.” Smiling over at Dean: “Want to share?” 

Dean has no fucking idea why, but he agrees. 

 

“...so I say, ‘What was I supposed to do with that cat, Samantha?!’” Dean says, throwing his hands around to make his point. 

Castiel is laughing -- giggling, really -- too hard to even talk, and that sets Dean off, until they are both heaped in their separate chairs and gasping for breath. “Wow,” Cas finally says. “You don’t even like cats.” 

Dean blinks, trying to make out Cas’s face in the moonlight. “How do you know that?” 

Cas says, all loose and grinning, “Sam told me, I guess.”

“You remember everything Sam tells you about me?” Dean says, teasing. 

Suddenly solemn: “Of course, Dean.” 

Dean’s a little taken aback. It makes something clench in his chest to think about an alpha asking after him, memorizing his details. It makes something else clench in him too, but he can’t name it. It’s softer than the fear. 

“I’ve said something wrong,” Castiel says, sitting up to look at Dean.

“Nah,” Dean says, trying to cover up his panic with nonchalance. “I’ve just got to -- um, get to bed --” 

“Of course,” Castiel says, and a new scent washes outward from him. Disappointment.

_Well, he can be disappointed_ , Dean thinks, and doesn’t breathe again until he’s behind the lock in his room. 

The next day, he installs a second lock.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dean is locked in his room blasting classic rock; Castiel is wrapped around a book or his laptop in his own space; Sam is at class or his internship so much Dean isn’t even sure if he lives there anymore; Charlie spends her time freelancing as a white hat hacker while listening to podcasts on her huge headphones. For four people living in one house, they’re all pretty lonely. Dean most of all._

The second lock doesn’t ease the screaming in his chest much, though it is a little better -- a little less intense, a little less gasping like he can’t breathe. He wakes up that way a lot, paralyzed, desperate to fight back but unable to. It’s almost worse than the thing that happened.

Castiel doesn’t approach him, and Dean doesn’t go out on the deck in the evenings anymore. It’s easier to just stay locked in his room, swapping between AC/DC and Zeppelin at full volume. He keeps waiting for someone to complain, but they all just leave him alone like he’s some fragile thing they could break by yelling “Turn that the fuck down, asshole!”

Dean is locked in his room blasting classic rock; Castiel is wrapped around a book or his laptop in his own space; Sam is at class or his internship so much Dean isn’t even sure if he lives there anymore; Charlie spends her time freelancing as a white hat hacker while listening to podcasts on her huge headphones. For four people living in one house, they’re all pretty lonely. Dean most of all.

He goes through his days doing cheap oil changes and sometimes an a/c check or tire rotation, but he doesn’t have to talk to customers and avoids his mostly-alpha coworkers. They’re the kind of men’s men that scare Dean the most, so even though he does his best to bluster confidence through their interactions, he’s mostly just scurrying away whenever one of them looks his way.

Dean didn’t used to be such a puss, but then the-thing-which-cannot-be-named happened, and now he shudders when an alpha passes by. Just the smell makes him want to vomit. He’s starting to get used to Castiel’s, though, and maybe even appreciate its richness, like the smell of fresh coffee beans.

 

One night the house really is empty, so Dean plops down in front of the too-big tv in the living room. A couple of Shiners and Dr. Sexy is all he wants out of life, and it’s a relief when the familiar jingle starts at the beginning of the episode. As silly as it is, Dr. Sexy has seen Dean through a lot of hard times, and that little piece of music provides a comfort that goes deep.

He’s on the third episode when Castiel comes home, wearing an ugly trench coat that’s too big for him and ridiculous considering the weather. Dean stares as Castiel takes it off and hangs it in the hall closet before turning to Dean. “Hello, Dean,” he says, just like always.

“Hello, Castiel,” Dean says, just being a dick.

“Oh, Dr. Sexy,” Castiel says, glancing at the screen. “This is the episode where the lesbians fight about the leg thing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I join you? This is my favorite season.”

Dean gestures at the couch. Castiel sits on the opposite side from him and is immediately engrossed in the show, eyes not leaving the tv. They watch two episodes together before Cas glances at his watch and sighs. “I’ve neglected my thesis today, so I guess I should get to work.”

“You work too hard,” Dean says. “Every day? All day long?”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s expensive being a student. The sooner I can finish, the sooner I can actually get a job and start paying off my loans. And maybe go out to eat every now and then instead of eating PB&J for half my meals.”

Dean laughs. “Living the peanut butter life. I’ve been there, dude. You know you’re--” he stops himself for a moment before charging forward “--always welcome at family dinner on Thursdays. That’s at least one real meal a week.”

The smell of surprised-pleased alpha makes Dean smile. Castiel smiles back and says, in his oddly sincere way, “Thank you, Dean. I appreciate that more than you know.”

And then he’s gone, boots pounding up the stairs.

 

The next morning, Castiel’s door is closed, but Dean can hear Supertramp playing, mixing with the smell of content alpha. Dean pauses outside the door for a long moment, mouthing the words to “Breakfast in America” and just enjoying the scent.

Like he senses Dean out there, Castiel opens the door. He’s shirtless and his hair is all whirled around like he’s been in a cyclone. They stare at each other, wide-eyed and silent, for long moments When Dean catches up to himself, he drops his eyes and slips down the hall to the bathroom.

Castiel shirtless. That was a bit of surprise. The tattoo goes all the way up to his shoulder and swoops a little over his collarbone, ending in delicate swirls that look like gargoyle stone. And he’s beautiful, like he’s carved out of stone himself, all lean muscle and hatrack hipbones.

Dean has not thought about wanting someone for a long time.

 

The next time Dean is looking forward to a beer and the late evening breeze, he goes out to the deck without worrying whether or not Castiel is already there (he isn’t, and Dean tells himself he’s not disappointed). When he wants to watch Dr. Sexy, he sits himself on the couch and turns it on without worrying about all the alphas in the house (he sits stiffly and jumps at the sound of footsteps, but no one joins him). He makes dinner on Thursday and smiles at the over-appreciative Castiel.

Then Castiel notices Dean watching Dr. Sexy every night and starts to join him, even if only for one episode at a time. Slowly, slowly, Dean starts to get used to Cas’s scent, Cas’s body, so close by. Castiel never makes any move to move into Dean’s bubble. Castiel isn’t like the other alphas Dean knows, all violent posturing, especially when it comes to omegas. Castiel doesn’t want to own anyone, Dean doesn’t think. Castiel just wants to learn history and spend his days telling other people about it.

With the comfort of Dr. Sexy in the background, Dean says, “Why are you like this?”

Castiel turns to look at him, a line deepening between his eyebrows. “Like what?”

“Like… just a regular person. Not an alpha.”

“I am an alpha,” Castiel says, “but that doesn’t excuse bad behavior.”

“They say they can’t stop themselves,” Dean says. Remembering.

“Everyone makes choices, Dean. I choose to treat people with respect.”

Dean picks at the label on his beer, not meeting Cas’s eyes. “You’re one of a kind, I guess.”

“So are you,” Castiel says, solemn as ever.

Dean glances up at him but might be more afraid of the earnestness in Castiel’s face than he would be afraid of red eyes. Using all the performance he can come up with, smirking a little and fluttering his eyelashes, Dean says, “Are you flirting with me, Cas?”

“Not at all,” Castiel says, but the smell of him says otherwise, the way he’s warmed towards Dean. It’s like an aura reaching between them, mixing Dean up inside it. Mixing up his thoughts.

Dying for a subject change, Dean says, “Hey, do you have any more weed?”

“Yes. Do you want to smoke with me?”

This time Cas brings out a lovely little black pipe and packs the bowl with careful fingers. Dean is thinking about those fingers.

Dean takes the first hit and coughs it out with rough hacking. Castiel laughs, hits the pipe, laughs some more. “Lightweight,” Cas says.

“I’m not a pothead like you,” Dean says, no bite to his voice. Or his scent, which has changed, smelling like comfortable-content omega, an omega safe with his alpha.

Cas just smiles and passes the pipe back to him.

 

Work starts to go a little better. There’s less leering from the alphas, which is a nice change, and even the beta in the front office is friendlier. He thinks that maybe he’s finally not smelling like a victim anymore, even if he rarely sleeps soundly. The nightmares haven’t let up.

 

During the lull of end credits, Castiel says, “Why are you like you are?”

“What am I like?”

Castiel looks at him, trapping Dean in his eyes, searching for something. “Afraid. No one has ever been afraid of me before. Even now, you’re afraid.”

“I’m not,” Dean says, but the protest is weak and pointless. Fear is one of the easiest emotions to scent, all of them built to take advantage of the weakness of others.

“What happened?”

Dean says, “You have no right to ask me that.”

“You’re right,” Castiel says, eyes dropping. “But I still want to know.”

Dean just shakes his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reallyelegantsharkfish](http://reallyelegantsharkfish.tumblr.com) on tumblr


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I can’t help that I’m an alpha,” Castiel says, quiet enough that Dean can hear the ruckus going on downstairs as Charlie and Sam squabble over dishes, probably making a mess of soap all over the floor, “but I would never treat you -- anyone -- like just an omega. I respect your decision and I’m sorry -- that I misread what was happening with us. I hope we can still watch Dr. Sexy together.”_

After dinner one night, after leaving the others to deal with the dishes, there’s a knock on Dean’s door. “Finally learned to knock, Sammy?” Dean says, then stills to find Castiel outside his door, looking as serious as always. 

“Can we speak for a moment?” Cas says. 

“We are,” Dean says. “Speaking, I mean.” 

“Out here?” Castiel steps back into the hallway, and Dean follows him past the threshold of his bedroom. “I just wanted--” a pause, and Dean can smell him frustrated. “I wanted to ask if you’d go to dinner with me.” 

“So now you’re flirting,” Dean says. A mix of anger and fear burns in him bright-hot. He wants to turn and run, but he doesn’t want to show his back. He steps backwards and hits the wall. 

“Flirting implies a certain amount of coyness. I’m just asking you to dinner.” Castiel lowers his eyes. “But you’re still afraid of me.” 

Dean says nothing. 

“I can’t help that I’m an alpha,” Castiel says, quiet enough that Dean can hear the ruckus going on downstairs as Charlie and Sam squabble over dishes, probably making a mess of soap all over the floor, “but I would never treat you -- anyone -- like just an omega. I respect your decision and I’m sorry -- that I misread what was happening with us. I hope we can still watch Dr. Sexy together.” 

Castiel doesn’t wait for a response, just shuts himself up in his room. 

 

In the middle of that sleepless night, Dean gets up and knocks gently on Castiel’s door. He can see the sliver of light underneath that says Cas is still up writing. Cas answers shirtless and disheveled from the way he always has his hands in his hair while he revises. Dean knows these things about him. 

“Can I come in?” Dean says. 

“Yes, of course.” 

The only thing on the walls is a reproduction of an old west map of Kansas down through Texas. Otherwise it’s just a bed, a desk, and stacks of books. Dean sits on the edge of the bed and is glad when Castiel takes his desk chair. Their knees nearly touch when they face each other. 

“I can’t have sex,” Dean says. “I mean, I don’t want to.” 

Cas blinks. “Okay.” 

“So maybe I would go to dinner with you, but I just -- I can’t do that, so I don’t know why you would want to--” 

“Stop, Dean.” Castiel looks down at his hands, then at Dean’s, both of them clasped in their lap. “I offered to take you to dinner, not to fuck you.” 

Dean laughs without expecting himself to. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before.” 

“You have much to learn, my friend.” Castiel’s smile is big and beautiful. Dean can’t help smiling back. “I’m a man of many vices.” 

“So even if…”

“Even if.” 

“I just don’t -- don’t want to be touched.” 

“Okay.” 

“So we can go out. If you don’t touch me.” 

“Okay. I won’t.” Cas is still smiling. “Saturday?” 

 

Saturday comes both too soon and much too late. Dean can’t remember the last time he was excited about something, eager, but here he is reacting to an alpha asking him out like he’s a blushing schoolgirl. He lays awake and wonders what Castiel is writing. He lays awake and wonders if Castiel is laying awake thinking of him. He blushes when they run across each other in the hall Friday morning, Dean headed out to work and Cas headed to the kitchen to coffee with Charlie, both of them as morning-grumpy as the other. 

Dean doesn’t know what to wear. In the end, he settles for what he always wears. Jeans worn thin where his wallet and phone sit and along his groin; old Zeppelin t-shirt; flannel overshirt rolled up to the elbows. It’s been a warm winter. 

Castiel, on the other hand, clearly thought a little harder about his outfit. He’s in a nice navy button-up and dark, well-fitted jeans, and he looks incredible. Even Dean can admit Castiel is handsome. 

“You dressed up,” Dean says, wondering where he learned to sound gruff. Probably Bobby. 

“You look great,” Cas says, smiling. 

“Hey,” Dean says, standing to the side as Castiel puts on his ridiculous coat. “I know you asked me out and everything, but do you think--”

“Yes, you can drive.” 

Dean blushes. “I’m not trying to be a dick.” 

“It’s one hundred percent fine,” Cas says. “You have a gorgeous car and my phone can get us there either way.” 

Dean drives them to a little Italian place where he’s painfully underdressed and he drops his eyes away from the hostess in all black until Cas says, “Dean,” and gives him a smile, and it’s just as grounding as a hand on the small of his back. Maybe more so, the way Castiel says his name, like there’s not another name he’s ever liked to say more. 

Dinner is just… dinner. It’s good; they share an appetizer and after stuffing themselves with pasta, Dean discovers an apple pie-esque dessert that he immediately orders. But there’s no alpha possessiveness, no alpha trying to assert control over the conversation. They talk about Castiel’s thesis and Dean’s work and Sam and Charlie and tell funny stories from their childhoods and it’s just… comfortable. Warm. Safe. Smells good. 

Afterwards, they part at Dean’s bedroom door. “Thank you for dinner, Dean. I enjoyed myself very much,” Castiel says, all formal again. 

“Thank you,” Dean says, “I had a good time too.” 

“Cand I… shake your hand?” 

Dean blinks. “I guess,” he says, and holds his hand out. Castiel’s handshake is strong and firm but not overpowering. Just like the rest of him. 

“Good night, Dean.” 

“Good night, Cas.” 

Dean’s hand tingles all the way up until he falls asleep. 

 

When he wakes up, it’s like he can smell Cas all over him. Even after a shower, it’s just that citrus-rich smell following him everywhere. Dean is surprised that he doesn’t really mind, that he finds himself scenting the air to inhale more of it. 

Castiel is growing on him, and Dean doesn’t really mind. He thinks he should, but he doesn’t. It’s easy to like Cas. 

Nothing changes, though. They watch Dr. Sexy in the evenings and smoke out on the deck every now and then and have family dinner with Charlie and Sam on Thursdays. Dean keeps staring across the couch at Cas, waiting for him to do something. Anything. Waiting for him to try to make a claim. 

But he doesn’t. He’s just Cas. His smile is so nice and his eyes light up when he sees Dean. And sometimes Dean gets the idea that they _are_ doing something, just like this, easy and slow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reallyelegantsharkfish](http://reallyelegantsharkfish.tumblr.com) on tumblr


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Talking like he’s approaching a wild horse, Cas says, “Omegas don’t flirt with me anymore.”_
> 
> _“You haven’t gotten uglier.” Dean doesn’t let a thrill touch him, that no other omega is trying to take Cas._
> 
> _“Do alphas flirt with you?”_
> 
> _Dean shudders. “No. Good fucking riddance.”_

“I told you he wasn’t so bad,” Sam says. 

“Yeah, well, congratulations to you. You found an alpha that’s not a total shit.” 

“What is your deal, anyway? You’re surrounded by alphas--”

“Exactly. Exactly! I’m surrounded by alphas all the fucking time and maybe I’d like to get away from that in my own house!” 

Sam clenches his jaw. “This is my house, Dean.” 

“You want me to leave?” 

“No. I want you to be rational.” 

“I am being rational. You know what happens to omegas around strange alphas!” 

Sam stares at him, dark eyes seeking. “Did something happen to you, Dean? Is that why you’re in California?” 

Dean glares at his own feet. “No,” he says, barely managing to spit it out. “Nothing happened to me.” 

“Then you should get your shit together. You can’t work in an alpha-dominated field without being able to handle some alphas being around every now and then.” 

“Fuck you, Sam.” 

 

Dean hesitates outside the threshold of Castiel’s room, his hand paused in mid-air before knocking. “Come in!” Cas calls. 

Dean opens the door to find Castiel bent over his desk, surrounded by open books and notes scribbled on paper in blue ink. Cas is wearing an old AC/DC shirt and faded jeans with a hole in the knee, another wearing high up on his thigh. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, the smile on his face like the round belly of the sun on the horizon. 

“Can I hang out for awhile? I just need to get away.” 

“I heard you and Sam fighting,” Castiel says, turning back to his computer. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “just…” 

“Arguing about me again, right?” 

Dean sits on the bed, picks at a thread in Castiel’s black comforter. “Yeah, a little.” 

Dean can see Castiel’s shoulders tense through his shirt. “I can move out,” Castiel says. “I’ve got to find a new place, but I can break the lease with Sam and--”

“I don’t want you to.” 

Castiel turns part way in his chair so their eyes can meet, and it’s electric, the way it feels when Cas looks at him. Dean blushes underneath Cas’s eyes. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Sam thinks it’s stupid of you to be afraid of alphas. Of me,” Castiel says. 

“Were you listening?” 

“No. Just guessing.” Dean finally ducks out from under his gaze, and Castiel says, “I’m sorry he didn’t realize how hard it would be for you, to have another alpha in the house.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Dean says. 

Thank god, Castiel comes up with a subject change: “Want to play Fluxx?” 

Dean has never wanted to play a confusing card game so much in his life. 

 

Dean wakes up with the smell of Cas on his sheets and cuddles closer against them when he goes to sleep. That alpha smell that used to make him furious and afraid now follows him around, eases his anxieties. It’s enough that alphas don’t leer at him on the street anymore, and Dean wears it like a beloved cloak. 

When they sit down for Dr. Sexy, Castiel gives Dean a sideways smile. “You smell like me,” Cas says. 

Dean blushes and grumbles and starts the dvd. 

After a tear-jerker of an episode, Cas says, “Seriously, have you noticed? You smell like me.” 

“Do I?” Dean says, like he hadn’t just been snuggling into that smell, wrapped up warm. 

“I can smell you, too. But Dean, you smell -- do you want to tell me something?” 

Dean crosses his arms. “Like what?” 

Talking like he’s approaching a wild horse, Cas says, “Omegas don’t flirt with me anymore.” 

“You haven’t gotten uglier.” Dean doesn’t let a thrill touch him, that no other omega is trying to take Cas. 

“Do alphas flirt with you?” 

Dean shudders. “No. Good fucking riddance.” 

“But they used to.” 

“I wouldn’t call it ‘flirting.’” 

Castiel just nods, looks at Dean for a long time. Dean can see him decide something, and then Cas just says, “Hit ‘next episode,’ Dean.”

 

One day Dean wakes up, and Castiel is his best friend. 

Or something. 

Castiel helps Dean in the kitchen so they cook dinner most nights, and most nights they watch Dr. Sexy reruns together, and sometimes on the weekends they smoke out together and giggle a lot at nothing, and they yell the lyrics to whatever the other one is listening to across the hallway between their rooms. The only thing is that Cas is true to his promise and never touches Dean, not even an incidental steadying hand on the elbow or shoulder. Dean is starting to wish Cas wasn’t so good at keeping his word.

Dean has never had a best friend before, other than Sam, who doesn’t count because it’s Sam, and he really likes it, the way their two scents mix and mingle as they dance around each other in the kitchen, as they sit on opposite sides of the couch. 

Dean waits until they’re on the couch in the middle of a Dr. Sexy episode before speaking up. He turns sideways on the couch to face Cas, a couch cushion or a hundred miles in between them. “Cas?” 

“Yes, Dean.” He still says it like Dean’s name is honey in his mouth, sweet and heavy. 

“Do you want to kiss me?” 

Cas flinches, his attention immediately going from engrossed in the episode to blazing bright on Dean. “I’m sorry,” Cas says, “but I would never--” 

Dean pushes himself to sit next to Cas on the couch, thighs touching. “Kiss me,” Dean says. 

Cas’s eyes widen, and he reaches a hand up to gently cup Dean’s jaw before leaning forward to press their mouths together, just chaste. It’s nice, but Dean wants better than nice, so when Cas tries to pull away, Dean grabs on to his collar and pulls him back, opening his mouth to touch his tongue against Cas’s lips. Cas growls -- it goes straight to Dean’s dick in a way he didn’t think anything could anymore -- and deepens the kiss, thumb stroking over Dean’s cheekbone in a gentle opposite to the greed of his mouth. 

When Dean pulls away, Cas’s eyes are flaming gold. 

Castiel pulls back, blinks a couple times, and it’s gone like it was never there. 

“Saw your alpha, Cas,” Dean breathes, kind of in awe. 

“I didn’t mean to show you.” 

“I know.” Dean smiles, nuzzling his face into Cas’s hand, still holding his face. “‘s’ok, though. It’s pretty.” 

Castiel smiles back, then carefully kisses Dean again. After it’s over, Dean breaks away back to his side of the couch. Cas smells hurt, though, and Dean can’t handle that at all, so without taking his eyes off the tv, he reaches his hand into the space between them. Instantly, it’s like the sadness never existed in the air; Castiel’s fingers close around Dean’s and happy-content is all he can smell. Happy-content alpha. Happy-content omega. Two sides of the same coin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reallyelegantsharkfish](http://reallyelegantsharkfish.tumblr.com) on tumblr


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You smell…” Castiel says, taking a deep, shuddery breath._
> 
> _“Your eyes are gold.”_
> 
> _Cas licks his lips. “Because you’re incredible.”_

Suppressants fail, on average, twice a year. 

So it’s not that Dean is surprised, necessarily, to feel the first symptoms of heat on a Tuesday morning. Trying to keep the shame out of his voice, Dean calls the garage and tells them he needs to use some of his heat leave. Even on the first day -- if an alpha scents him, he’ll lose it. 

This is why he texts Sam and Charlie instead of walking downstairs to talk to them like a normal person, tells them he’ll be incapacitated for a few days, with subtext of _this is hard enough please don’t make it worse_. He doesn’t have Cas’s number, and saying it to Cas… No. Dean can just avoid him for the next few days, start locking his door again. 

So he opens up Netflix on his computer and gets ready for some serious Buffy action. He can’t concentrate, though; he just keeps shifting uncomfortably in the bed, his clothes suddenly suffocating. He pulls his clothes off while shaking fingers while Buffy ganks another group of vampire-demon-whatevers. Naked on the cool sheets feels a little better, but now there’s an itch under his skin, too. 

By the second day, Dean has out the fake knot he bought so many heats ago, never used because he used to pick up lovers to help him out. He doesn’t use it -- not yet -- just has it in the top drawer of his nightstand for when he needs it. When he has to use it. He feels sick thinking about it, even the fake one. 

There’s a knock at his door. 

It can only be Castiel; both Sam and Charlie confirmed they would leave him the hell alone while he deals with this. 

Dean wants to ignore it, but he feels drawn towards Cas, toward the scent he knows is waiting for him just outside the door. So he yells, “Hang on!” and struggles into a pair of sweats before answering the door. 

Castiel is shorter than Dean, so his submissive gestures -- eyes down, shoulders shrunk, head ducked -- seem exaggerated. A little sneer pulls back Dean’s lip, angry that his alpha thinks he has to perform this way for him. When Dean _needs_ him. 

It takes everything Dean has in him not to press into Cas’s space, baring his neck to be claimed, begging for a knot, but he clenches white half-moons into his palms and manages to control himself. 

Castiel’s hands are full. In one hand, he has one of those huge bottles of gatorade, red, and in the other, a plate with two sandwiches, heaping with ham and cheese and Miracle Whip, just like Dean likes it, Sam’s criticisms of the Whip be damned. 

“I didn’t know if you had eaten,” Castiel says, voice quiet and, like always, so precise. “And you need to stay hydrated…” 

For that moment, both of them are thinking about the aroma of slick surrounding Dean. With his alpha around, Dean is even wetter, can feel it slip-sliding between his thighs. 

“I know,” Dean says. And then, to ease the harshness: “Thank you.” 

He takes the items from Cas’s hands and then -- before his body can betray him -- kicks the door closed. He’ll have to explain to Cas later, that he couldn’t handle the citrus-rich scent of him, that he thought he would go insane if he had to deny his bodily urges any longer. 

Because no matter how much he feels like he _needs_ Cas to knot him, he doesn’t _want_ him to. 

Dean slams the locks home and retreats to his bed with the sandwiches and beverage. He wolfs them both down, only just remembering that he missed eating the day before. The heat makes him lose his appetite for anything but sex and belonging. The comfort of a mate, if only for a night. 

He starts pacing. The urge to be knotted -- an actual physical ache that starts to exist inside him, a literal hunger -- grows and grows, but he keeps ignoring the purple silicon forgery in his nightstand. He’ll hold out until day three. He’s will-strong enough. 

There’s a self-destructive dichotomy at work within Dean: the pure lustful urge to mate, to be claimed, and then the shuddering, vomit-inducing fear of anyone with a knot. 

Even though Cas didn’t pounce. Dean could smell the alpha need in the air, but Cas didn’t even touch him. His alpha is special. 

It only hits him then that he’s been thinking of Cas as _his alpha_ , and for a few moments that overrides his heat and everything else while he just -- retreats away from that thought as quickly as possible. Dean doesn’t want an alpha. Dean likes Cas, maybe even a lot, and liked kissing him, even though it was only the one time so far. But Dean has seen red eyes before, and he doesn’t ever want to be near them again. 

But after he and Cas kissed, it was gold, not red, he saw flashing in Cas’s eyes. 

 

Day three. It’s always the worst one for Dean, the one where he used to find himself in dimly-lit bars, downing Jack Daniels double-on-the-rocks-thanks-sweetheart and flashing his need for anyone who wanted to take him. He used to carry k-condoms everywhere, liked the harsh stretch of a knot inside him. 

Thinking about it now makes him dry heave over the trashcan. 

But he’s cold sweating and feverish. He’s whining like a pup, low in his throat, begging his alpha to take him, at least a little devastated to be alone. He’s soaking wet, has towels on the bed but is soaking through them, too. 

When he can’t fight it anymore, Dean gets out the toy and uses it on himself, ass up in the air like he’s _presenting_ , but somewhere inside him, he’s sobbing. 

Not long after that, another knock on the door. Dean answers, naked as the day he was born, and he can physically see when Cas scents him -- all of him, all of the filthy things he’s had to do to himself -- and then Cas’s eyes go gold like a sunrise. 

“Food,” Cas says, tense. He holds out the plate of sandwiches, the bottle of gatorade. 

Dean realizes the fake knot is still on the bed. If Castiel looks over Dean’s shoulder, he’ll see it. More evidence of Dean’s disgusting need. 

Dean takes the sandwiches and the drink. “Thank you,” he says. He’s tense, too, fighting his body’s urges to submit to his alpha. But Dean has vowed never to submit again. 

“You smell…” Castiel says, taking a deep, shuddery breath. 

“Your eyes are gold.” 

Cas licks his lips. “Because you’re incredible.” 

“I can’t -- I don’t want to --”

“I know.” Cas’s voice is low and soothing, nearly a purr. “Can I give you a kiss?” 

Dean can’t say anything but “Yeah, Cas.” 

Castiel steps over the threshold of Dean’s bedroom, slides his hand to the back of Dean’s neck, stands a little on his toes, and kisses Dean softly. When he pulls away, it’s just barely, pressing his forehead to Dean’s. “Anything you need,” Cas murmurs, “just tell me. Anything.” 

“I have to be alone now,” Dean says, pulling away from Cas. 

“Ok, Dean,” Cas says. He cups Dean’s jaw for a moment, then backs away slowly, nostrils flaring. His eyes are on Dean’s all the way until Dean closes the door. Sliding the locks closed feels like regret and the fake knot feels pointless. His alpha is just across the hall. 

When he finally sleeps, Dean dreams of Castiel. 

 

It takes a few more days for the symptoms to completely subside, and by that time, Dean is bored out of his mind. There’s nothing good on Netflix he hasn’t already seen; when he tries one of his paperbacks off the small bookshelf in the corner, the words just swim on the page. 

When he’s sure the heat is completely over -- no more smell, no more slick -- Dean explodes out of his room. Cas’s door is closed, and Dean hesitates before knocking. “Come in!” Cas’s voice calls. 

Dean pushes the door open, expecting to find Cas among his usual pile of journals and notes, but instead he finds Cas and a pretty redhead omega on Cas’s bed, bodies close and bent over his laptop. 

“Oh,” Dean says, his stomach lurching, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

“Not at all,” Castiel says, standing quickly. “Dean, this is Anna. Anna, this is Dean, my… roommate.” Standing to block Anna from Dean’s sight with his body, Cas says, “What’s up, Dean? You’re looking better.” 

“Feelin’ better,” Dean mumbles. He looks anywhere but Cas’s face. _Roommate_. “I’m going to go get something to eat. I just, uh, wanted to say hello.” 

“Sure,” Cas says, and smiles at Dean in that way Dean was sure was special, just for him. But he hadn’t figured on demure omegas with big blue eyes. “Hello, Dean. Dr. Sexy later?” 

“Maybe. Have fun with your research and stuff.” _And stuff_. “I’ll see you later.” 

Instead of going to the kitchen, Dean goes back into his room, slams the door, lays face-down like a teenager. He doesn’t cry, because he’s Dean Winchester, but still, he feels like he’s been carved out and left empty. No heart, no lungs.


	6. Chapter 6

In front of the tv, Castiel waits a few episodes before he says, “Anna and I aren’t even friends. She just needed another set of eyes on a paper.” 

Dean shrugs and doesn’t look away from Dr. Sexy. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“Of course I do,” Castiel says. “We’re --” He stops abruptly, running a hand through his hair. 

“We’re what?” Dean says. 

“Friends,” Cas says, like it hurts him to do it. 

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Friends.”

It hurts him to say it, too. 

 

In the middle of a video game marathon, Charlie says, “So, you went and got yourself mated.” 

Dean’s Kart veers off the road and spins out before he can get it back under control. “What?” 

“You know. You and Castiel.” 

“Ha ha,” Dean says. “Very funny, Bradbury. We’re just friends.” 

“That’s not --” She blinks, sniffs. “You smell mated, bro. Figured he was shut in with you while you were in heat.” 

Dean scowls. “Hell no. I was shut in by myself.” He tries not to blush, thinking of the fake knot shoved in a box under his bed. 

Charlie snickers. “Well, didn’t see too much of your boy during that time, either…” 

“He’s not my boy and I do not smell mated.” 

“Uh-huh. I’m an alpha, remember? I have better senses for these kinds of things.” 

“We’re just hanging out,” Dean says at last. 

“As mates.” 

“No, as… nothing. We kissed once, he brought me sandwiches when I was in heat, but it’s nothing. There’s this girl he’s had over--” 

“Brought you _sandwiches_ while you were _in heat_? I would not do that for you, and I love you. No hetero.” 

“He was just being nice,” Dean says. 

“ _And_ you kissed. _And_ you’ve got your panties in a twist about ‘this girl.’ Who, by the way, plays for my team.” 

“She’s a lesbian? But she’s so pretty,” Dean says.

Charlie does her best to pummel Dean to death with her giant Pikachu stuffed animal.

 

Castiel’s door is open, but Dean knocks on the door frame anyway. Castiel looks up from his work, hair all akimbo, and a smile lights up his face. “Dean,” he says, like Dean has only done good his whole life. 

“Heya, Cas. I gotta ask you something.” 

“Please, come in. Sit.” 

Dean sits on the edge of Cas’s bed. Cas swings around in his desk chair to face him. Dean looks for all the bravery in himself and bumps one of his legs forward until their knees touch. Cas bumps back. “I was talking to Charlie earlier,” Dean says. 

“Always an enlightening experience.” 

“She said I smelled mated.” 

Cas’s smile falls away until there’s nothing left in its wake. “Did she.” 

Dean licks his lips. “Do you think -- I mean, dammit -- can you smell it?” 

“Yes,” Castiel says, eyes dodging away. 

“You’re the only alpha I’ve been around.” 

“Yes,” Castiel says again. 

Dean licks his lips again. His voice is small. “Do you think it’s us, Cas?” 

“Yes.” There’s no expression in his voice. Just the facts. ma’am. 

“No, I -- we only kissed once.” 

Cas drops his head in his hands, rubs his eyes. “I knew when we met.” 

“Knew what?” 

“That you were my mate. That you were it for me.” Cas tilts his head up to look at Dean, almost upside down. His eyes are still the brightest blue Dean has ever seen. 

“That can’t be right, Cas. You know I can’t -- you know I don’t want that.” 

“You don’t want sex or you don’t want me?” 

“God,” Dean says. He laughs even though nothing is funny. “If I could -- you’re a catch, Cas. You must know that. And if I could be that for someone, I’d want it to be you. But I can’t…” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Surprised but still, he’s unable to say anything but “Yeah, Cas.” 

Castiel puts one of his hands on Dean’s knee and leans forward to kiss him, just lips but so intimately Dean feels like he might cry. Afterwards their eyes meet, so close Dean is nearly cross-eyed. “I want you,” Cas says. “I don’t care if I’m celibate for the rest of my life if I can have you.” 

“Stop,” Dean says. “You don’t mean that.” 

“Of course I do. And I meant it when I said you’re it for me.”

Dean looks down. “I don’t know what to say.” 

“Then don’t say anything. Watch trashy tv with me. Take me to the farmer’s market. Let me help you cook. Let’s go to Goodwill and look at lamps. I don’t care. Just let me be yours.”

“Don’t you mean let _me_ be _yours_?” 

Castiel regards Dean seriously. “Not at all.” 

“Can I get back to you on that?” 

“Of course, Dean. I’ll be waiting.

 

Going into the bank, an alpha in a sharp skirted suit opens the door for him and doesn’t check out his ass on the way by. At work, the alphas stop leering all together; the beta in the office congratulates him. At the bar, drinking away his sorrows, no one approaches, when he’s used to swimming in advances from men and women, alpha and beta and omega. 

And Cas is just Cas. They hold hands while watching tv -- they’ve started through Dean’s extensive movie collection, most of which Castiel hasn’t seen -- and sometimes Cas will ask for a kiss, but always gives the same careful press of lips. Dean doesn’t know how to ask for more. He used to, but things have changed a lot since then.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Cas says breathlessly, “Dean, Dean. Can I -- can I bite you?”_
> 
> _Dean stills. He can hear Cas not-breathing. “If I say no?”_
> 
> _Cas presses his forehead against Dean’s. His eyes seem to glow. “Then I hope you’ll kiss me again anyway.”_

Across the hall, Castiel is jamming to AC/DC. Dean stands in the doorway and watches him -- tapping his pen, singing along almost as loud as the speakers. Wanting hits him like a sharp punch to the gut. 

“Cas!” he yells over the music. 

Cas finally looks over. He turns a little red and reaches to turn down his phone. “Sorry,” he says, “I got a little wrapped up. Are you home for the day?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, but --” 

“What?” 

Dean sits on Cas’s bed. Like always, Cas spins his desk chair around so their knees touch, facing each other. Cas looks so concerned, and Dean just smiles. He almost feels like his old self as he grabs Cas’s shirt and pulls him in for a kiss -- a kiss with lips and tongue and wet and hot and Dean wrestles Cas over onto the bed and Cas’s hands are resolutely clenched at his sides while Dean’s are buried in Cas’s hair and it seems like such a long time before they have to pull away, panting. 

Cas looks almost dazed, his eyes gold, his lips red. “Hey,” Dean says, just to say something. 

“Hey,” Cas says back. “What was, um, what was that for?” 

“Are you complaining?” 

“Not at all.” 

Dean grins and Cas gives his crooked smile back and Dean’s kissing him again, one hand cupping his jaw. 

Lips dropping to Cas’s neck, Dean says, “You can touch me.” 

Like a surge, Cas’s hands are on him, gripping at his hips over his t-shirt. “Fuck, Dean,” he says when Dean mouths just under his ear.

“Yeah?” 

They kiss again, tongues touching, a hand on Dean’s face, and then Cas says breathlessly, “Dean, Dean. Can I -- can I bite you?” 

Dean stills. He can hear Cas not-breathing. “If I say no?” 

Cas presses his forehead against Dean’s. His eyes seem to glow. “Then I hope you’ll kiss me again anyway.” 

“If I say yes?” 

“Then I’ll be the proudest bastard on the planet.” 

Dean kisses Cas. Soft, just catching Cas’s bottom lip between his, and it makes Cas clutch harder at his hips. When Cas pulls away, his lips part in a silent gasp. “Your eyes have turned.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says.

He moves up Castiel’s bed, lays himself out on it and beckons Cas into his arms. They kiss again, for a long time, just the movement of lips and tongues with hands on each other’s faces. 

Dean says, “I don’t want to have sex --” 

“I know, Dean. I assume that’s the case unless you tell me otherwise.” 

Dean shuts him up with a kiss. Then, sharing breath, he murmurs, “Bite me, Cas.” 

Cas makes a noise that’s not quite a moan. “Dean,” he says, and then he’s mouthing along Dean’s jaw to his ear, nibbling along the outside shell until Dean rumbles something that’s almost a purr, then open-mouthed kissing down the side of Dean’s neck, then grazing his teeth over the juncture of his shoulder. Dean’s hands are splayed against Cas’s spine and his grip tightens. 

“You sure, Dean?” 

“You keep drawing it out and I might change my mind.” 

Cas laughs, muffled against Dean’s neck. “I adore you.” 

And without any more preamble, Cas bites into the meat of Dean’s shoulder, teeth sharp and precise. Dean moans, arches his body towards Cas. Cas sucks, and then Dean feels his skin broken, and Cas whines against the bite, licking, soothing the skin that’s already mottling towards a bruise. 

“Cas,” Dean says. Gasping for air. Hands scrabbling for purchase at Cas’s back, but he’s all smooth lines and there’s nothing to hold on to. 

Cas starts kissing back up Dean’s neck, slowly, regularly returning to mouth gently at the mark before going back to his trek, and he finally finds Dean’s lips and kisses him, deep and needy. Pulling away, Dean can see his pupils blown and the gold even brighter. He can feel Cas’s hard-on up against his thigh, but it’s not insistent or demanding. Cas doesn’t even push into him, doesn’t seek friction. He just stares at Dean like Dean created the whole world. 

 

The bite mark is covered up by a shirt, but Dean pulls it aside to look at the bruise in the mirror every time he’s in the bathroom. He likes the way it looks, the red and purple color of it. He imagines he can see the faintest teeth marks around the edges. For days, it’s his favorite thing about himself. 

When he shows it to Cas, Cas’s eyes flash gold for just a blink, but it’s enough to put butterflies in Dean’s stomach. His alpha is pleased. His alpha is proud to have him. His alpha _adores_ him. 

His alpha has never seen Star Wars. 

“You’ve… never seen Star Wars,” Dean says. He sounds about as horrified as he feels, which is a lot of horrified. 

“No, I have not.” 

“We’re going to fix this shit right now.” 

They marathon the original trilogy Friday night. Afterwards, halfway through a rewatch of Serenity, Dean falls asleep nestled up to an already-snoring Cas, drifting in the smell of them together. 

After that, Dean stops going back to his bed. It feels so good to wake up next to Cas in the mornings, to have Cas wrapped around him all night, to kiss him last thing before falling asleep. It feels like home. It feels like _mate_. 

When the bruise fade, Cas bites a new one. 

 

One night, with Cas’s arm draped over his stomach, soft little whuffs of breath at his ear signalling Cas is near sleep, Dean says, “Wake up.” 

“Mm.” 

“You’re it for me, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> [reallyelegantsharkfish](http://reallyelegantsharkfish.tumblr.com) on tumblr


End file.
